


Misery Loves Company

by silentdescant



Category: Glam Rock RPF, Supernatural, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, First Time, M/M, Nightmares, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man sitting next to Tommy at the bar has four shots lined up in front of him. He downs them quick and easy, one-two-three-four, then asks the bartender for more, and a beer to go with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery Loves Company

**Author's Note:**

> I just got really into Supernatural, so clearly the first thing to do is write my favorite new character with my favorite old character. It's hard to decide which one of them is more angst-ridden. And that's how I like it. :D Special thank you to Sarah and Hilary for encouragement and prereading. <3

The man sitting next to Tommy at the bar has four shots lined up in front of him. He downs them quick and easy, one-two-three-four, then asks the bartender for more, and a beer to go with it. The bartender sets out the bottle, cracks the top off, and the man snatches it up immediately, tilting his head back as he takes a long pull, his throat working as he swallows. Tommy’s fingers slip a little in the condensation on his glass, and he rips his gaze away from the man’s neck in order to get a better grip. He tosses back the dregs of his own drink, mirroring the other man’s position.

There are four more shots lined up on the bar now. Tommy looks at them, then up at the man next to him. He finds the man looking back at him steadily, green eyes narrowed. He pushes one of the shot glasses Tommy’s direction.

“You look like you could use that,” he says in a low, rough voice. Tommy lifts the glass. He didn’t think he looked that bad, but if strangers are giving him alcohol, maybe he does. The whiskey burns on the way down, but it’s better than whatever sugary crap Tommy was drinking before. He reaches for a second shot and pauses with his fingers on the rim.

“Go ahead,” the man says. “Misery loves company.” Tommy watches him take another sip of his beer and finds himself staring. He takes the shot.

“What’s your name?” he asks, wincing through the burn. “If you’re gonna buy me drinks…”

“Dean,” the man replies. He doesn’t offer a hand for Tommy to shake, doesn’t even look at Tommy. Doesn’t ask Tommy’s name.

“I’m Tommy,” Tommy offers anyway. “I’m in a band. Just passing through.” It sounds like he’s flirting, cruising for a one night stand. Tommy bites his tongue. He hasn’t actually decided if he wants a one night stand.

“Yeah, you look a little out of place,” Dean says easily. Tommy watches Dean’s fingers slide up to the neck of the bottle, watches it sway as he twists his hand. He drags his gaze up to Dean’s profile, the slope of his nose. He wants to see Dean’s eyes again.

“My boss is gay,” Tommy blurts out, and Dean finally turns. He levels his gaze at Tommy, confusion and disinterest on his face.

“What, he not want you or something?”

“He did,” Tommy explains. “When he thought I was straight. But not anymore.”

Dean twists on his barstool, angling his body towards Tommy. Tommy flushes with satisfaction, even as Dean’s voice sends a chill through his body. “He actually thought you were straight?”

Tommy didn’t think he was _that_ obvious. Dean’s seeing right through him at every turn, and it’s weird. Usually he can hide his shit better. He rests an elbow on the bar and feigns nonchalance, asking, “So, what’s your problem, then?”

“Kid, you got no idea.”

“I’m not a kid,” Tommy snaps. “You said misery loves company. Well, I’m miserable. Keep me company.”

Dean’s eyes don’t leave Tommy’s face, even as he reaches for a shot glass and pours it into his mouth, swallowing as if it were water. Dean slams the glass down on the bar. “I ain’t been laid in a while, how’s that for starters?”

Tommy wonders if that’s an offer. If it is, Tommy decides to take it. If it’s not, well… Tommy can’t act more foolish than he has already. Tommy slides off his barstool and sways forward, thigh coming in contact with Dean’s knee, catches himself with a hand on Dean’s ridiculously firm bicep.

“That could change,” Tommy murmurs. Right now, he only has eyes for Dean, so it throws him off when Dean’s eyes cut to the side, scan the rest of the bar. Dean leans back, away from Tommy, and Tommy’s heart sinks. Then Dean’s sharp eyes come back, lock onto Tommy’s, and Tommy feels like he’s being studied, examined. He must pass whatever test Dean has, because Dean softens and takes Tommy by the arm, holding him back while he steps off the barstool.

Dean’s tall, as tall as Adam or maybe even taller; the tilt of Tommy’s neck feels familiar. Dean steps away from him, keeping him at arm’s length. He glances around furtively and this time Tommy mirrors him, realizing for the first time since he walked in that he’s in a shitty, small-town bar in the Midwest and he’s the only scrawny twink in the joint. And wearing makeup, to boot. Tommy lets his gaze drop, swings his hair out over his face, and barely catches it when Dean whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”

Turns out, Dean’s staying in a motel only a few blocks from the bar. They walk, side-by-side, with a healthy bit of distance between them.

“How come your boss thinks you’re straight? I mean, you seem pretty… _pretty_ ,” Dean says out of nowhere.

“Is pretty a requirement?” Tommy asks. “Maybe it is. You’re pretty.”

Dean scoffs and makes a big show of looking up at the sky. Anywhere but Tommy. They walk into the motel parking lot and Dean still hasn’t met Tommy’s eyes again.

“Do you want to fuck me?” He’s honestly not sure.

Quick as a flash, Dean spins around and hooks his hand around the back of Tommy’s neck, reeling him in. His eyes are back, dark and intense, and his breath is warm on Tommy’s face. “You have to ask?” he whispers.

“Mixed signals, dude,” Tommy says weakly. Dean lets go of him and leads the way to the motel room, last door on the row. Tommy wonders briefly if Adam will come looking for him, but bus call isn’t until morning. Adam’s probably asleep back at the hotel, thinking Tommy’s asleep in the room next door. He follows Dean into the room.

There are two beds, both slept in, two duffel bags, two jackets hanging over the chairs, and a pile of books open on the table. “Is someone…”

“He won’t be back tonight,” Dean says quickly, keeping his voice low. His stoic mask has cracked; his face is more open now, more vulnerable in a way Tommy can’t describe. He can finally see a little of that misery Dean mentioned back at the bar.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” Tommy asks again.

Dean steps into Tommy’s space, shockingly fast like before, cupping Tommy’s cheek gently with one hand, the other lightly resting on his shoulder. He’s so… tender, so careful. Not what Tommy expected.

He speaks in a breathy whisper, eyes searching Tommy’s face. “They don’t know what they’re talkin’ about when they call me pretty,” he says. “They obviously ain’t seen you.”

“Who?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Tommy’s not sure if Dean even heard him. He’s just staring at Tommy’s face, his thumb grazing the corner of Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy licks his lips and clears his throat. “Who calls you pretty?”

“No one,” Dean mutters, already leaning in to press his lips to Tommy’s. His fingertips dig a little into Tommy’s skull, holding him close, and Tommy opens for him with a sigh, and there’s the fierceness Tommy expected. Dean pushes him backward, slamming him against the wall with sudden force, even as he cups the back of Tommy’s head protectively. He doesn’t kiss like Adam, lacks the showy finesse, but there’s passion and intensity in abundance. Tommy reaches up and slides his hands down the back of Dean’s overshirt, fisting the collar of the t-shirt underneath.

Dean takes the hint and wrestles the shirt off his shoulders without breaking for air, revealing thickly muscled arms and a firm, tight chest the loose fabric hid well. Tommy grabs the hem of the t-shirt and lifts up, wanting to _see_ , and Dean takes a step back to get rid of it too. He stands in front of Tommy in just his jeans, panting, looking for all the world like some kind of department store model, plastered life-size in shopping malls. Tommy drinks in the sight of all the well-defined muscles, the broad shoulders, the circular tattoo just beneath his collarbone.

Then he realizes it’s his turn. Tommy shifts his shoulders back and lets his leather jacket slide off his arms and crumple to the floor. He’s proud of the definition in his arms, a testament to his daily guitar workout, but he feels so small next to Dean.

Dean takes Tommy’s wrist in his hand and pulls his arm out between them, his gaze raking up and down the tattoos covering his arms.

“Horror movies,” Dean says with a faint grin. “Horror movies and cowboys.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s just… That’s…”

“What?”

Dean laughs softly. “That’s perfect. Tommy.”

That’s the first time he’s said Tommy’s name. Tommy smiles, bright and unrestrained, and doesn’t resist when Dean pulls Tommy’s t-shirt up over his head. He fights not to cover himself as Dean takes in Tommy’s pale skin and soft belly, but Dean doesn’t look disappointed. His eyes dart back up to Tommy’s face and he steps closer again, this time tracing Tommy’s jaw with his fingertips.

“Fuckin’ pretty,” he growls. He presses Tommy back against the wall as they kiss again, and the heat and pressure of his body is overwhelming, intoxicating. Tommy turns his head to the side to gasp for air. This is nothing like how Adam kisses him during shows; this is _hot_ , sexual… Desperate. Tommy clings to Dean’s shoulders and surrenders to it.

Tommy thinks he should be used to Dean’s surprising agility by now, but he’s shocked when he suddenly finds himself on his back on one of the rumpled beds, Dean’s fingers working at his belt buckle. Tommy stares up at the ceiling and tries to catch his breath. It doesn’t take long for Dean to get him naked, tight jeans and underwear peeled off and tossed to the floor with his boots. Then Dean kneels up on the bed between Tommy’s legs, jeans sagging low on his hips now that his belt is undone, fly gaping open. Tommy wants to touch.

Dean lowers himself down on top of Tommy before Tommy gets a chance to reach out; Dean slides an arm up under Tommy’s shoulder, lifting him and rolling them to the side, and Tommy twines his arms around Dean’s neck so they don’t slip away from each other. Dean positions himself beneath Tommy, kicking down his jeans while his fingers dig into Tommy’s spine, and moans low into Tommy’s mouth. Tommy takes it as permission to settle his weight, stop worrying about crushing Dean.

“Come on, baby,” Dean murmurs and drags a hand down Tommy’s back to his ass. “You done this before?”

“Kinda,” Tommy answers breathlessly. He plants his hands on either side of Dean’s head and pushes himself up onto his knees.

“What’s that mean?”

Tommy touches the tattoo on Dean’s chest, traces his finger in a circle around it. “Just, like… my fingers. Not this.”

“You know how it works?” Dean asks gently.

Tommy nods, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “Do you?”

“I know enough.”

Something about Dean’s tone gives Tommy an uneasy feeling. He presses down on Dean’s chest and slowly raises his gaze until their eyes meet. “What does that mean? Have you done this before?”

Dean swallows and Tommy watches the muscles in his jaw twitch as he clenches his teeth. But his voice is steady when he says, “Yeah, Tommy. I’ve done it before.”

Tommy feels Dean’s hand on his hip, nudging him higher onto his knees, and Tommy lifts himself out of the way so Dean can shimmy all the way out of his boxers and jeans. Dean raises his knee and Tommy shifts back against him, ass against Dean’s firm thigh.

Dean’s as big as Adam, but harder, stronger. Tired, too. Tommy recognizes that as a similarity between him and Tommy; Dean’s pretty in the way that commands attention, but like Tommy, he doesn’t want all those eyes on him. He wants to be invisible. Tommy lowers himself back down and closes his eyes as their lips meet in a chaste, slow kiss.

“Don’t be scared of me,” he whispers.

“I’m not, I…” Dean’s hands stroke up and down Tommy’s arms, chafing them, warming him. “I just want it to be good.”

Tommy kisses him again and smiles. “How can it be bad?”

Dean doesn’t answer. He reaches for the nightstand and pulls the supplies they need out of the top drawer without even looking. Tommy watches his face as he listens to Dean slicking his fingers, holds his breath when he feels the chilly, wet touch of lube against his ass.

“Relax,” Dean murmurs with his lips against Tommy’s cheek. “I’ll make it good.”

Tommy forces the air out of his lungs and shifts his stance, ducking his head down to rest against Dean’s collarbone, looking down in the darkness between their bodies. He can see Dean’s cock from this angle, hard and wet at the tip, curved up and lying against his belly. Tommy spreads his legs a little wider around Dean’s hips and breathes slowly, waiting for the intrusion.

Dean’s fingers are thicker than Tommy’s own, but it doesn’t hurt when he pushes the first one in, or even the second. Tommy arches his back a little, rocking his body backwards in counterpoint, and mouths at the tattoo on Dean’s chest. He licks the outline of it, sucking a kiss into Dean’s skin, and Dean catches him by surprise when he slides a third finger inside him. Tommy gasps, his teeth grazing Dean’s chest as he breathes through the stretch.

“Okay?” Dean asks. He’s stopped moving completely, waiting for Tommy’s response.

Tommy kisses Dean’s tattoo again and lifts his head. “Yeah,” he says as he meets Dean’s worried gaze. “I’m good. Fuck me now?”

“You ready?”

Tommy nods. He presses a quick kiss to Dean’s mouth, too fast for Dean to kiss him back. “You know, you’re not like I thought you’d be,” Tommy tells him quietly.

Dean busies himself with pulling his fingers out of Tommy’s ass and rolling the condom onto his dick. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s good. I just wasn’t expecting you to be so… careful.”

Dean’s hand comes up to cup Tommy’s cheek, force him not to look away. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says firmly. “I won’t.”

“You don’t need to protect me, you know. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” Dean replies, and Tommy sees a flash of humor in the tight set of his mouth.

“I don’t always like to,” Tommy admits, trying to ignore the blush crawling up his throat. Dean’s hand drops from his cheek, settles on his shoulder instead and pulls him down so their chests are flush. Tommy can feel Dean’s hot breath on his cheek, the feather-light graze of his lips as they move.

“Then let me take care of you,” Dean whispers. His hand slides around to the center of Tommy’s back and then down, down his spine, down around his ass. He pulls Tommy against him and fits his cock to Tommy’s ass, and Tommy kisses Dean as he pushes in, muffling his moan in Dean’s mouth.

Dean braces his feet on the bed and rocks his hips up, setting an easy, gentle rhythm. One hand on Tommy’s ass keeps them joined together, and the other curved around his back keeps Tommy held close against Dean’s chest. Tommy half-expects Dean to roll them, turn them over so he can get more leverage, so he doesn’t have to take Tommy’s weight, but Dean seems unhurried, and a man of simple pleasures. No practiced or planned moves. No pointed dirty talk, aimed to speed things along. Tommy feels his limbs go weak and fluid and he relaxes into Dean, sinking down against him.

Dean takes the added weight easily, stroking his hand up and down Tommy’s spine in a soft caress that sharpens as it reaches Tommy’s lower back, fingertips digging into Tommy’s skin in time with his thrusts.

Tommy moans again, letting the sound slip out where their lips part, and Dean’s grip on him eases. Tommy pushes himself up on his hands and looks down at Dean’s wet, full lips, the blush staining his stubbled cheeks. His eyes are closed, lashes fanning out beautifully. Tommy rests his weight on one arm and traces Dean’s cheekbone with his fingertip, following the long shadows.

Dean’s eyes pop open and immediately lock onto Tommy’s. Their fluid rhythm ceases. Tommy presses himself back, pulling Dean into his body as much as he can. They’re just staring at each other. Dean’s eyes are soft now, bright, shining green even in the darkness. Captivating.

Dean reaches up and sweeps Tommy’s hair to the side, hooks the longer strands over Tommy’s ear. His hand falls away again as he studies Tommy’s face.

“Do you…”

Tommy’s not sure what Dean meant to ask, but he pushes himself all the way upright, exhaling long and hard as Dean’s cock shifts inside him. His own stands out against his body, blood-dark against the rest of his pale skin. He watches Dean’s gaze drop and hold there.

“Will you touch me?” Tommy asks, his voice strangely choked. He wiggles his hips a little, still undecided on whether the new, wider stretch of Dean’s cock in his ass is painful or just intense. “Please?”

He sees Dean’s lips move, but no sound comes out. His hand drifts to Tommy’s cock; he closes his fist carefully around Tommy’s length and squeezes, a slow increase of pressure. Tommy’s thighs tense and clench, as does his ass, and Dean’s eyes flutter closed again, but only for a brief second. Tommy lifts himself on his knees, shuddering as Dean’s cock slides out of his body, but in the next moment, he slams himself back down, startling a moan out of Dean.

The new angle makes sparks light up behind Tommy’s eyes and he loses focus, feels his throat vibrating with sound but doesn’t know what he’s saying, and this must be what everyone talks about, how it can feel really good. He hasn’t quite gotten to that point before, with just his fingers. He wants to feel that again.

Tommy rocks up high on his knees again, then back down, a little easier and a little faster now, with those same electric sparks of pleasure shooting deep in his gut. He moans loudly and Dean’s hand squeezes tight on Tommy’s hip.

“You good?” he asks breathlessly.

“Fuck yes,” Tommy groans. “Fuckin’ awesome. More. Like that. Harder.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Dean says in an answering moan, low and deep in his chest, and Tommy imagines he can feel it vibrating through Dean’s body. Dean’s hand on his cock speeds up, setting a rhythm, squeezing a little but never very hard, never tight enough. Tommy layers his hand over Dean’s, fits his fingers into the valleys of Dean’s knuckles, and presses Dean’s fingers tighter, tighter, _tighter_ , until it almost _hurts_ , it’s so good. The smooth, skin-warm band around Dean’s finger digs in a little, sliding easily through slick precome, making Tommy’s thighs tense and jerk, even though he can’t really move. Tommy moves his hand down to Dean’s strong forearm, grabs him tight, and throws his head back on a sharp cry.

“Tommy,” Dean gasps. “Tommy, look at me.”

Tommy has to force his gaze down, but meeting Dean’s bright green eyes isn’t a hardship. He stares, panting hard, as Dean shakes his head minutely. He feels Dean’s hand twist, still tight and steady on his cock, and he thinks he can feel Dean’s cock inside him, throbbing, pulsing in time with Dean’s heart.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Dean says, words slurring as he clenches his teeth.

“Feels good,” Tommy says. He shakes his head. “Fuck, Dean. I’m gonna come, please. Please, more. Need it, come on.”

Dean’s hand on Tommy’s hip sets him into motion again, and this time they move in counterpoint, Dean’s quick upward thrust matching Tommy’s grind down, and it’s powerful, Tommy can feel the strength in Dean’s thighs, his abs as he meets Tommy’s every motion with one of his own. His fingers tighten around Tommy’s cock again as well, without Tommy’s urging, and Tommy’s suddenly caught between instincts, drawn down two paths that aren’t merging as they probably should. His body pushes forward, into Dean’s grip, but he keeps forcing himself back, down onto Dean’s cock. He feels like a puppet pulled by two opposite strings, and the tension in the pit of his stomach claws his way up his throat, out of his mouth as a growling, shuddering cry.

“That’s it, baby,” he hears Dean muttering. “That’s it, Tommy, come for me now. Come for me, baby. Let me see you. Fuckin’ pretty, so fucking pretty, Tommy.” 

Tommy slams his hand down on Dean’s chest, blunt, ragged nails leaving fine pink scratches on Dean’s smooth skin, and comes, messy and slick all over Dean’s fingers, his belly, Tommy’s own wrist. He lets himself fall, smearing his come between them, and his fingers slide through Dean’s short-cropped hair, cupping his skull as he leans up to meet Tommy’s lips in a kiss. His hands slither out from between their bodies and cling hard, wrapped around Tommy far enough to for his fingertips to graze Tommy’s sides, forearms locked tight around Tommy’s back. Dean tips them sideways and they roll smoothly until Tommy’s on his back with Dean lying over him, weight balanced on his knees between Tommy’s spread legs. Dean manages the whole maneuver without his cock even slipping from Tommy’s ass.

Dean breaks their kiss with a wet slide of lips. “You good?” he whispers, eyes glittering down at Tommy, finally showing a bit of amusement, a bit of need.

“Yeah,” Tommy replies, smiling lazily. “Go for it.”

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Dean mutters, then his attention turns to the task at hand and he pulls Tommy’s legs higher around his hips, pushing and pulling until he has Tommy caught, pinned beneath him with enough leverage to actually hold him there while he thrusts. Tommy doesn’t have to move anymore, doesn’t have to concentrate, just lies still and lets Dean control his body.

Boneless now, his legs slip down Dean’s narrow hips, slick, sweaty skin sliding against skin, and Dean doesn’t hesitate before wrapping his hands under Tommy’s thighs and lifting him again, manhandling him into a better position with his calves hooked over Dean’s shoulders and his knees almost pressing into his chest. The stretch pulls at Tommy’s back, at his thighs and abs and even his fucking toes, but it’s just another layer of sensation, something else to lose himself in as the pressure of Dean’s cock in his ass splits him open.

Tommy keeps his eyes on Dean’s face, the shine of sweat across his freckled nose, and Tommy’s spent so much time imagining it, it’s hard not to put Adam in Dean’s place. They’re close in size, both freckled and pale, but that’s where the similarities end, and Tommy shakes himself, pushing away the mental images. He wrests control of one of his limp, useless arms and reaches up, tracing his fingers across the bridge of Dean’s nose, following the smattering of freckles up over his cheek, his forehead, into his hair.

Dean’s body is in constant motion, but his eyes are so still, locked onto Tommy’s like he can’t make himself look away. Tommy watches Dean’s face twist, his jaw clench, and Dean’s grip on Tommy’s waist tightens, all at once hard enough to bruise and hurt. He seems to realize what he’s doing and his hands slip away, slam down instead on either side of Tommy on the bed, pulling him into a deeper stretch and leaning down low enough to capture Tommy’s parted lips in a kiss.

Tommy’s eyes fall closed. The frantic thrusting stutters to a halt and Dean gasps against Tommy’s mouth, choked-off, barely-there noises that mean nothing. Dean breaks their kiss but stays close, panting, his whiskey-sharp breath gusting across Tommy’s face. Tommy opens his eyes again, sees Dean almost too close to focus on, sees the wrinkle of his eyebrows and the lines around his tightly-clenched eyes.

“Dean,” Tommy whispers. He wants to touch Dean’s face again, soothe away those painful lines, but Dean is too close, Dean isn’t responding. “ _Dean_ ,” Tommy says again.

“I’m sorry, I’m crushing you,” Dean mutters, starting to move away without even opening his eyes. Tommy’s legs fall down flat on either side of Dean’s body as Dean pulls out, and it’s a relief for his muscles, but now Tommy feels too lax, stretched past his limit like taffy. He slings an arm around Dean’s neck, wanting to keep him close, but Dean just slides away, still strong and powerful even after his orgasm. He’s not looking at Tommy, still, and that doesn’t sit right.

“Are you okay?” Tommy asks as Dean gets off the bed and finds a towel to clean up with. He doesn’t particularly want to move, but he manages to push himself up on his elbows to watch Dean wander around the motel room, disposing of the condom and nudging random things like he’s trying to clean up.

Dean chuckles under his breath. He pulls on a pair of boxer-briefs and stays on the other side of the room. He says quietly, “I should be asking you that.”

“What, did ‘harder, Dean, harder!’ not give you a clear enough picture?” Tommy grins. “I’m good. I’m amazingly good. I just got laid by a super hot guy.”

“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” Dean says, finally turning around. His expression is unreadable now, stoic and blank, and Tommy wonders if this is a hint, if he should be getting dressed and getting the fuck out of Dean’s space now.

“I asked for it,” Tommy replies. He rolls into a sitting position and lets his feet dangle off the edge of the bed. “Is your friend coming back? Should I go?”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and Tommy sees the blankness disappear. Dean softens as he looks back at Tommy, a ghost of a smile flickering around his lips. “He won’t be back until morning. If you want to stay.”

Tommy smiles and hopes that’s answer enough. They each go through their nightly rituals without speaking—Dean washing up in the bathroom, Tommy wiping away as much of his makeup as he can with a dry tissue—and settle back into bed half-dressed, both of them lying on their sides, facing each other.

Tommy drags his finger down the slope of Dean’s nose and whispers, “I like your freckles.”

Dean’s eyes flutter closed and he licks his lips. He finally lays his hand on Tommy’s hip, curls his fingers into the dip of his waist, and pulls him in close, so their bodies touch.

“I like your eyes,” Tommy continues, this time tracing Dean’s eyebrow before moving his fingers down to Dean’s mouth, “and your lips, and the way you kiss me like you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Dean says without opening his eyes. Tommy ignores him. He’s lying, anyway.

“I like your body. Your arms. So fuckin’ strong. So sexy.”

Dean’s lips curve into a smile.

“I like your tattoo.” Tommy leans in and kisses Dean’s soft lips and there’s hardly any response. He lets Dean breathe against him for a while before scooting away, settling into the pillow. Tommy’s body wants to sleep, and he’s comfortable here in Dean’s arms on this crappy motel mattress, but he can’t bring himself to close his eyes now. Can’t shut off his brain as it takes in every detail of Dean’s face, the freckles and the stubble, the lines of weariness that have finally smoothed out in sleep.

Tommy doesn’t know how long he lies there, just watching Dean sleep; it feels like both forever and no time at all when he finally gets twitchy and has to move. First he rolls over onto his back and Dean’s hand slides across his stomach. That’s warm and nice for about a minute, but then Tommy starts to think that he’s breathing too fast, moving too much, and he’s going to wake Dean up, so he scoots back and sits up, gently moving Dean’s hand to the mattress between them. Dean’s fingers flex weakly but he doesn’t wake up, just turns on his stomach and buries his face in the pillow with a muffled sigh.

Tommy pulls his legs up and rests his chin on his knee for a moment, looking around the darkened room. He can’t figure out anything about Dean’s friend other than he’s a guy, based on the clothes lying around. Tommy wonders when he’ll come back, and if they’ll meet. He wonders if he’s even ready for that, for being awkwardly introduced as some dude’s one night stand. Then he wonders if Dean’s ready for that, if Dean’s even out to his friend. If Dean’s even gay, or if tonight was some kind of exception. Tommy’s not sure how he feels about that, about whatever connection he feels to Dean not even being real.

“It’s real,” Tommy whispers to himself. It has to be real. Dean couldn’t fake that. And it wouldn’t matter anyway, because tomorrow Tommy will be back on the bus with Adam and he’ll never see Dean again. He’s putting too much importance on this night, on Dean. Just because it was a significant moment in _his_ life doesn’t mean it’s anything unusual for Dean. Dean probably won’t even remember him, a week from now. He’s the naïve, smitten virgin in this scenario, and he’s acting like a fucking thirteen year old girl whining in her diary, too.

Tommy rubs his face, annoyed with himself. Dean’s not his boyfriend. He knows now that sleep is a long way off, but he needs to stop thinking, stop letting in those stupid doubts, that frustratingly persistent self-consciousness. He knows those things aren’t true, it’s just hard to keep them at bay.

He lets his knees fall and tucks his feet up under his thighs, hunching over his lap a little to stare at Dean again. The sheets are bunched low around Dean’s waist, exposing his whole back. At first Tommy thinks the only things marring Dean’s pale skin are more freckles, but as he looks closer, he sees raised marks. Scars. Nothing too terrible or too noticeable, but now that Tommy has noticed, he’s fascinated.

He’s got scars of his own, and he doesn’t like talking about them, so he always assumes other people won’t like talking about their scars either. He’ll never know how Dean got the thin, jagged line trailing from the back of his neck to his shoulderblade, or the thick scar on his ribs. He won’t know about the burn marks on Dean’s bicep or the deep bruise on Dean’s opposite shoulder. Tommy reaches out with one hand to touch one of the scars, feel how raised and smooth the damaged skin is now that it’s healed.

Tommy can feel a couple of the scars under his fingertips, but he sees now that there are more, all over the place. Smaller, faded, smooth, but present. He has no idea how Dean got so banged up. He’s honestly not sure he wants to know.

Dean makes a noise. Wordless, under his breath, muffled by the pillow, but still vocal. Tommy snatches his hand back, afraid he’s hurting Dean somehow, but Dean is definitely still sleeping. His eyes are jumping under his eyelids. He must be dreaming. Tommy lies down again, head pillowed on his arm so he can keep watching Dean, curiosity winning out over trying to sleep himself.

Dean’s shoulders draw up tight, tension arcing through his entire body, and he rubs his face hard against the pillow, almost like he’s trying to scrub himself clean. His lips part and he gasps, clenching his jaw and panting through his teeth, and Tommy knows now that this isn’t a good dream.

“Dean?” he asks quietly, gently, hoping to bring Dean out of it without spooking him.

Dean’s face creases in pain and he speaks again. This time, Tommy can hear the word “no” among the indecipherable vocalizations.

“Dean,” Tommy says, more firmly now. “You’re dreaming, man, come on. Wake up now.”

Dean’s hands clench into fists. He pushes them under the pillow. He’s squirming, writhing on the sheets like he’s trying to run away but can’t. He’s murmuring, _pleading_ , helpless words caught in his throat, and Tommy needs to fucking _wake him up_.

He lays his hand on Dean’s shoulder, intending to jostle him out of his nightmare, but all of a sudden he finds himself flat on his back with Dean’s forearm arm heavy and strong across his sternum and a huge fucking knife tight against his throat. Dean’s staring down at him with his teeth bared, eyes shining with rage, and Tommy can’t fucking breathe. He can’t move. Can’t shove Dean off even if he wanted to, and he can’t summon up the will to try.

But then Dean exhales sharply, takes a few more deep breaths, and his face softens. His eyes narrow, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Then his mouth drops open, eyes going wide, and he lets the knife fall away. Tommy hears it clatter to the floor beside the bed. Dean sits back on his heels, withdrawing completely from Tommy and putting several inches between them, as far away as he can go without getting off the tiny bed.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m sorry. Tommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

Tommy scrambles up to sit against the headboard, running his hands over his throat to check for blood. They come away clean. “What the fuck happened to you, man?”

“How do you know something happened to me and not the other way around? I nearly slit your throat,” Dean replies roughly.

“You sleep with a fucking knife under your pillow! I’ll tell you right now, with nightmares like that, you should stay away from sharp objects!”

Dean scrubs his face with both hands. He looks like he did when they first got into the room, cracked open and bleeding his heart out, tired and sad. “Tommy, I’m sorry. You should get dressed, you should go.”

Still with one hand over his eyes, Dean reaches blindly for the nightstand between the beds, unerringly closing his fingers around a bottle of scotch. The cap disappears and Dean tilts the bottle back, gulping it down. His lips come off the rip with a wet pop and Tommy listens to his shaking breaths as he gasps for air.

Before he can think better of it, Tommy reaches out and nudges Dean’s arm with the back of his hand. Dean hands over the bottle easily, falling from lax fingers into Tommy’s waiting grasp. Tommy downs a couple of swallows and feels his heart rate start to slow back down to normal.

“What the hell were you dreaming about?”

Dean huffs out an unamused laugh. “You don’t wanna know.” He takes the scotch back and drinks some more. Tommy’s no slouch himself, but Dean seems to drink a _lot_. “You should go now, Tommy.”

Dean rolls off the bed and pads around the room in his underwear, bending to pick up clothes Tommy discarded earlier. Shirt, socks, pants; Dean lays them all out at the foot of the bed. He keeps a hold of Tommy’s leather jacket, his thumb stroking the place near the cuff where the leather’s worn thin and buttery soft. He finally lays that on the bed too, then backs up to lean against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest.

“You want me to go?” Tommy asks. His voice sounds small to his own ears, swallowed up by the tension in the dark room.

“Dude, I just tried to kill you in my sleep. I think you should leave before I try again.”

“What happened to you, Dean?”

“I told you, you don’t wanna know,” Dean says dismissively. “Now come on, get dressed. Sam’s gonna be back soon anyway, you gotta get out.”

Tommy dresses slowly and Dean watches every moment of it, like a striptease in reverse. There’s heat in his eyes and Tommy can read the apology in his expression clear as day, but Dean doesn’t put words to any of it. He finally pulls on a t-shirt to walk Tommy to the door.

“Sam took my car; can you get back on your own?” he asks, one arm resting on the doorjamb and the other hovering near Tommy’s shoulder like he wants to touch. Tommy doesn’t know why there’s suddenly a force-field in between them; he doesn’t like it. He wants Dean to touch him, and Dean obviously wants that too.

Tommy turns around and leans back against the door, stares up at Dean’s bright eyes and downturned mouth. “I’ll be okay,” he says. “Will you?”

“Kid, you don’t know me. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure seems like it. What with the knife and everything.”

Dean leans close but keeps that annoying few inches between them. “I’m sorry I ruined your night,” he says softly.

Tommy leans up, closes the distance between them and touches his lips carefully to Dean’s. Dean closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, and Tommy can feel his body relaxing. He wants to stay. He wants Dean back to normal, not all scared and tense like this. But Dean pulls Tommy out of the way of the door, opens it, nudges Tommy out onto the sidewalk.

“It’s time for you to go, Tommy.” 

Tommy stands there with his jacket over his arm. Dean watches him for a long moment, his eyes warm, then carefully closes the door in Tommy’s face. 

 

 _fin_.


End file.
